


Dry Clean Only

by AuKestrel



Series: Weighty Questions [2]
Category: due South
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-22 00:10:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8265502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuKestrel/pseuds/AuKestrel
Summary: Irritation flies right out the window with basic traffic sense. Ten blocks in under sixty seconds. Okay, not that bad, but I bet those German engineers would pay to see Fraservergnügen in action. ***  Another erotic character study centred on the subject of underwear; sequel to Poptart 89. Still boxers. Not brief.  Originally published October 2000





	

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack: Finest Worksong and Strange, Document (okay, so it was a Document kind of night); Sidewinder Sleeps Tonight ("...tell her she can kiss my ass and laugh and say that you were only kidding, that way she'll know that it's really really really really me, me"), Automatic for the People; Me in Honey, Out of Time; Get Up, Green; all by REM. (surprise!)
> 
> This is a sequel to Plain White Wrapper (aka Pop Tart 89) and is yet another Erotic Character Study with absolutely no redeeming social or literary value. This is what happens when Denise and Kelingtyn just won't let the underwear question rest . . . or, gee, the rimming question, and yeah, Aral, I'm talking to you. Mmmhmm. So I said, I can never get them there and Kelingtyn said, hell, *I* can get 'em there, and I said, Oooohkay, you just go, girl. And she did. And then I did. They just wouldn't stop.
> 
> Thanks to Kellie and LaT for sterling beta, as always; Kellie gets the gold for patience, it's tough work betaing for a fucking perfectionist; and LaT for most excellent title work and guidance on the mechanics of silk. Cynthia caught, as is her wont, a couple "You moron!" moments, for which I am very grateful. Kelingtyn and LaT ought to have a co-author credit because both of them wrote some very hot, very smart scenes in here.
> 
> To Denise, an enthusiastic gutter denizen, for reminding me how much fun F/K sex can be and how much fun the F/K fandom can be.

So I open the drawer and there they are. Impossible to miss. I have no idea how they got there.

Well, yeah. I do.

But I have no idea _why_ they're there.

Scratch that too. Yeah. I do. Ever since he caught me in his underwear, we've had some... laundry issues. Good issues, healthy issues, getting things out on the kitchen table issues. And, yeah, the bed's a lot more comfortable but it was an interesting experiment.

But he's nuts, that's all I have to say. I'm wondering where he bought them, _how_ he bought them, and how many salespeople creamed their jeans _when_ he bought them 'cause they thought they were for him.

Which they are. Because it'll be a cold damn day in hell before Ray Kowalski ever wears something like that.

So I leave 'em there. Day after day, I shove them to one side and dig in my pile of boxer-briefs. Day after day he puts them back on the very top of the pile. He can be subtle, but not about stuff like this.

Finally one morning we're getting ready for work together for once: flu's over, so's double shift pulling, and we hit the underwear drawer at the same time. I push them to one side, as usual; he reaches across me and slides them across my hand.

God, they feel good. Soft and smooth and smooth and supple and-

"Fraser, quit it, we're gonna be late."

"Well, Ray, I simply thought-"

"You thought wrong, okay? Those are - those are, like, chick things. No self respecting cop would be caught dead in those."

He looks at me, trying hard to keep a straight face, and digs his hand down to the bottom of the pile. Pulls out the candy striped ones. Holds them up for a long, long minute and then drops them back in the drawer. Keeps a straight face the whole time. Don't know how he does it. I can't. I finally lose it and snort into the arm I have resting on the side of the drawer. Then I get my face back together and look at him again.

"It's not the same thing. I've had those for years. They were a joke. They're, you know, oddball. Off the wall. Those other things aren't oddball, they're just-"

"Just what, Ray?"

"They're just not me, Fraser. Not me. And they're probably as uncomfortable as hell. They're not meant to be worn, you get it?"

"No, Ray, I don't. I think they're quite practical."

"Yeah, well, you think underwear that stands up by itself when it's clean is practical too. Freak."

He looks at me, eyes narrowed, and then he drops the underwear he just got out of the drawer onto the bed and comes back over to the dresser. He pulls them out. Pulls them on. Jesus Christ, and I've already made him late once this week. He smirks at me - no other word for it - and heads to the closet to finish getting dressed. I get dressed too, slower than usual, manage to cop a big old eyeful of Fraser's ass sliding, way too slick, into those stupid uniform pants. We don't say a whole lot to each other on the way to the Consulate: the usual "Lunch at noon?" conversation, that's all.

I'm a little antsy all morning. I'm not into male nudes, okay, and I can take or leave most guys, a lot of chicks too. But Fraser - Fraser's hot through and through, top to toe, up and down and all the way around and that colour looks good on him. Wonder how they feel on him - sliding, slippery, smooth -

"Ray! Earth to Ray! For the fifteenth time, do you have the file on Carpeza?" Frannie asks.

"No. Yeah. Yeah. It's - it's, uh, under that pile. No, wait, it's on top of the filing cabinet. What do you need it for?"

"To file, maybe?" she snaps and walks away fast. I don't look at her rearview any more. Even when I did it felt kind of dirty and now my brain's pretty much taken over with instant replays, from the grandstand, of Fraser's ass, naked and covered. Covered in those -

My phone rings, thank God.

"Hi, Ray." Fraser. His voice sounds a little deeper than usual.

"Hey, Frase. Is it lunchtime already?" I slouch back in my chair, look at my watch. Eleven-thirty. Been a long morning.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to meet you for lunch," he's saying.

"Something come up? What? What is it?"

"You - yes, that's - you might say that."

He sounds even funnier now.

"What, Ice Queen got you humping? Statue duty again?"

"Ah - ye - no. No. I'm - I'm simply - occupied. Busy."

"Bullshit, Fraser, you guys haven't been busy there since 1812. What gives?"

I hear the sound of footsteps and then a door closing. Then, unexpected, deep, sexy, Fraser says, "Ray, my friend, if I were to meet you for lunch I would endanger your career in a wildly bizarre fashion."

I lose my balance and my chair goes out from under me. By the time I get back together and Frannie and Dewey stop laughing at me, the hard-on's gone and so's Fraser.

I don't know how I make it to four-thirty. Hell yeah I leave early. I got loads of comp time and I have a feeling Fraser's going to manage to disappear early too. I'm not disappointed; he and Dief come through the Consulate door at twenty 'til. And... yeah... he's walking a little funny.

"Hey, Frase."

"Hi, Ray."

"Aren't you going to thank me for coming?"

His mouth snaps shut on a swallowed groan. He gives me the dirtiest look he can manage, and it's a pretty impressive one considering he's a) turned on and 2) trying not to laugh. "Later," he says through his teeth. "Later, Ray."

"So I'm guessing I was, uh, right about those? Not meant to be worn, huh?"

"They're - well - perhaps they're not the most appropriate - on the other hand, I may simply be so accustomed to-"

I start whistling the Chicken of the Sea jingle.

He sticks out his chin and plows on. "Or perhaps in normal pants - jeans, for instance - the effect wouldn't be quite so - quite so-"

"Uncomfortable?"

"No. No, I wouldn't call it that. It's very - it's very soft and slippery and unexpectedly - but no, not - not uncomfortable."

That gets me going, and he knows it, the bastard. Him. His cock, his balls, slipping and sliding around in those ridiculous pants, getting hard and soft and hard again under all that scratchy wool and slick shiny soft...

I bite my lip and shift in my seat. Fraser reaches out a hand and I growl at him. "If you want the party to last until we get home, _don't_."

"Ah," he says, and he sounds way too smug. I can play too, Fraser.

"Stop for pizza?" I ask, innocent as I can. Dief whines.

Fraser looks at me, looks at Dief, looks at me again. "No."

"I'm kind of-"

" _No_."

"Ah."

"Ray."

"I thought you said they weren't uncomfortable."

"Ray."

"Soft and slippery, you said, but-"

"Ray."

"-unexpectedly-"

"Ray!"

"What?"

He puts a hand on my leg. Squeezes my thigh and then starts to massage it.

"What?" I say again, trying to sound irritated.

"Drive faster."

Irritation flies right out the window with basic traffic sense. Ten blocks in under sixty seconds. Okay, not that bad, but I bet those German engineers would pay to see Fraservergnügen in action.

He bites my ass in the stairwell. If I ever move, get a bigger place, it's going to be on the ground floor, I can tell you that right now.

We just about fall through the door and I know in one more second he's going to have me up against the wall but unh-unh, not that way.  Not this time.  He wanted to wear those damn things, he's been paying for it all day and I'm not about to waste this chance. 

He's quick but I'm quicker and suddenly it's him against the wall and I've got him pinned there with my hands on his shoulders and my leg between his and my tongue having a real serious conversation with his mouth.

Move a little, just enough to get those damn pants open and pushed out of the way and . . . yeah.  It's a short slide over that silk and then I'm there.  Right where I want to be, hard, heavy weight in my hand.  A few hard, fast strokes and he's making those noises I like, the ones deep down in his throat that I know means he's going to lose it real fast.  I close what little distance there is between us, press my mouth up against his ear.  "Close, huh, Frase?  Been waiting all day?"  Nip at the side of his throat, capture his mouth again, bite at his lower lip.  He's breathing in short gasping pants now; his cock's twitching against my hand. 

"Ray... God... please..."

I love it when  he's like this, when he's so horny and turned on he can't talk.  'Cause then I can talk. I squeeze him through that silk and get a thrust into my hand.  "Trying to tell me something?"

"You've got to ... I don't... I want you to... I'm going to..."

"Come in your shorts?"

He's thrusting harder now and I can feel him shuddering. Start moving my hand faster, jacking him through that damn underwear that feels pretty good sliding over my hand so I can guess how it feels sliding over his cock. "That's the whole point, Fraser."

And as hot as that image is some other part of my brain takes over and I back it off, slow it down, lean in to nip and lick at his ear."Want to fuck, Fraser, is that it?" Can't help chuckling at the way his body jerks at that. "Better lose those boots then. And some clothes."

On the way to the bedroom we almost detour to the couch but he's hopping on one foot, working those laces, and that's funny enough that it backs me down so we get past the danger zone and into the bedroom. Somehow the boots are off and we're undressed...his hands, my hands, who the hell knows... all I know is I'm naked and he's starting to slide those damn boxers down when I clamp my hands around his wrists and say, "Not those."

He chuckles. "Are you saying you _like_ these, Ray?" And that smug voice does it... drives everything out of my head except the need to wipe that smug out of his voice. Don't want smug, want the guy who was so turned on he was going to happily soak his shorts in my doorway and suddenly even fucking's not enough.

Want everything, want to touch everywhere and I manage to nudge and prod and push until he's on his stomach and I can stretch out over him, hands kneading his shoulders, stroking down his back, over his ass, and all the while my dick's rubbing over that silk, sliding, slipping. Scrape my teeth over his shoulder, trail my wet, open mouth down his back. Slip the boxers down a little and start sucking at the base of his spine, right where the part in that perfect ass starts.

Stroke down that crevice with my finger, rub the silk over his balls, stroke back up. That gets me a groan, think we've finally said goodbye to his smug (and hello to mine) and all I can think is I want to drive him out of his mind

Stroke my finger across him again. Yeah, he likes that, pushes against it and says my name, all hoarse and thick. And then I wonder what else he might like and then my tongue's following my finger, skimming over the surface, then back up again, a little deeper. He's groaning louder, sort of humping his ass back against my mouth so I press in deeper, start flicking the tip of my tongue back and forth, teasing him through the fabric. With a frustrated kind of growl he pushes back, gets up on his hands and knees.

And that just fucking does it; I want to fucking _eat_ him and I pull the damn boxers down so fast I'm surprised they don't rip, too fast, the elastic pulls them back up and I pull them again, slower this time so they stay, held under the perfect curves of his ass, naked ass, now it's just him, against my mouth, and there's nothing tentative about it any more.

I'm holding him open and each time I swipe my tongue over him he shudders and jerks and grunts. Quick flickering motions with the tip of my tongue, long slow sweeps all the way up, short, hard licks right...there. Out of his mind, I don't see a problem with that, and hell, I was already about two steps ahead of him. It's a good place to be, out of my mind with him, and I lick harder, push a little with my tongue. He pushes back, gasping, and I try sucking a little, that's harder to do but he tilts his ass up, tries to spread his legs a little wider, can't really because of those damned boxers.

He groans again, moving with my tongue, then pants my name. "Ray... don't stop-"

I don't have to answer him, I just have to keep licking, sucking, teasing with my tongue, cranking him higher, cranking me higher, who knew this was going to feel so good, who knew he'd like it so much?

I feel him shake under my hands. He moans something I can't make out and shudders. Holy shit - and I spare a half grin for that thought, ohyeah - he's already close, too close.

He moans again and this time it's clear enough for me to hear: "Ray, fuck me, damn it!"

I snicker at that, he knows my buttons, and lick him once more, yeah, I want to fuck him, want to suck him, want it all, want to see if I can make him come just from licking him there but his way has a lot to be said for it too. I lick my way back up to his back, lean over him, lick the back of his neck. He shivers a little and goes down on his elbows, pushing his ass against me. No lube, fuck, but the end of my dick's wet and so's his ass so it slides right in and maybe this'll work if I don't go too fast . . . and shit, he's shuddering again and then he jerks and my hand goes around to find his dick, meets up with soft, smooth fabric. The boxers got caught on it, no wonder they wouldn't stay down and, God, he feels good, hot, hard, heavy under slick smooth soft...

He pushes again, I pop out, push back in, bite his neck, and pull him back against me, and then his whole body shudders, he lets loose with a positively obscene groan, and the silk under my hand turns wet and hot. He's coming so hard I pop out again and it's too late, we're done, all I can do is push hard against him and then I'm coming all over his ass.

About a year later I'm laying on top of a heap of Fraser, messy and sticky everywhere and too damn happy and tired to move, but Fraser's twisting under me a little, and I realise he's trying to get the damned things off.

"Yuck," I say in his ear, rolling off him onto the bed to wrap myself around his back. "We made a mess. Ruined the damn things. Good riddance."

Fraser snorts, twists again, holds them up. "I think they're salvageable."

"I think you're gonna frame them."

"I think I'm going to wear them."

"You are not."

"Every day."

"Shit."

"And twice on weekends."

"You know, they have words for Mounties like you."

"And those would be... "

"Go ahead, give it your best shot."

"I think I already did."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Hey, Fraser."

"Hello, Ray. Are we going to be unable to meet for lunch?" He's laughing at me, the bastard. I got him I got him.

"I'm afraid so, Frase. I went home. Sick."

"Sick? You don't sound sick."

"Yeah, I'm sick all right. You are too."

"No, Ray, I assure you -"

"Yes, you are. Or you need to come liaise with your Chicago partner. _Now_."

"Ray -"

"Tell the Ice Queen we need you. I need you. Or I'll come and get you, and, Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray."

"That would so not be a good idea."

"Why would that be, Ray?"

"Because, Fraser, my friend, I would endanger your reputation in a wildly bizarre fashion. I'm thinking maybe the Ice Queen's office, for starters; the staircase, for seconds; your desk, for - "

There's a click and then a dial tone. I grin my wickedest grin at the phone and turn it off, set it down. Let's see: Mountie at a wolf trot, I got maybe twenty minutes, tops.

I grab a quick shower, towel off everywhere so I'm good and dry and they slide right back on. They look almost as good as new; it figures Fraser'd know that shampoo cleans come out of silk. I'm sure it was on the curriculum at the Depot, right there next to 'Five Ways to Distinguish Larvae by Taste.' Good thing, too, because I don't think even he could keep a straight face, dropping those off at the dry cleaner's.

Ten minutes. I turn off all the lights in the place, draw the blinds in the living room and the bedroom, and light Fraser's lantern on the long dresser, the one with the mirror, so there's warm light reflected back. Looks good. Looks real good. I pull the covers off the bed (no point in pretending we're going to a) not make a mess or 2) use 'em), pile them on the floor, and slide my ass across the mattress to wait, stretched out and comfortable. I'm half hard - the goddamned things feel so good I can't help it - and I start playing with myself, half assed, half sleepy, waiting. Waiting for Fraser. Waiting for Benton.

My thumb catches on something: a wet spot. I look down, yeah, a darker spot, dulling the shine of the silk, getting bigger: that's me, the Leakmeister. I tug a little, find the flap, shove my dick through it. There we go, that feels even better, naked hand on my sloppy dick, slick soft silk shifting across my balls, light, tickles like Fraser's tongue. Jesus, Fraser's tongue, and I push hard, once, into my hand and then back off fast: have to wait for Fraser.

I twist my head to look at the clock: twenty-two minutes. He should be here soon. Should be here already. I slide the hand not on my dick up my chest and rub it over a nipple, real light, the way Fraser touches me. Feels good, slow good, so good, and I stroke my dick again, real slow, real tight, pushing up-up-up into my hand and then letting gravity pull me back down. Every time I move the silk moves too, whispery, soft, slippery, over my balls, under my ass . . . Under khakis was bad enough; how'd Fraser get through a whole day of this under those damn uniform pants? They're loose enough to let everything, _every_ thing slide, just like I'm sliding in and out of my hand. Going too fast again, Jesus, horny much, Kowalski?

I slow down again, playing with the head of my dick, rubbing my fingers under it, around it, smearing the wetness. I look down, look up at the ceiling, and then close my eyes, let both hands grab and pump it hard, once, twice, just for contrast... and then gentle again, pulling and pushing it around, rolling it between my hands. That feels damn good, pulls the silk tight up over my balls, so I keep doing it, way slow, almost exaggerated, roll, rub, pull, push...

I open my eyes and look at the clock again. Christ. Thirty one minutes. "Did he stop to help every goddamn little old lady he saw across the street?"  
No, Ray. Just a blind man on a bicycle."

I almost shoot off the bed, in more ways than one. He's leaning against the door frame and he's unbuttoning his tunic, waaaay too slow, and I feel the blush hit me about mid-chest and head straight up.

"No need to stop on my account." He's laughing at me, and with me, and his voice is like warm thick honey running down my spine, and I feel a big stupid grin crack my face.

I grab my dick again and pump it a couple of times. "Wasn't planning to. Party's almost over."

"I can see that."

"You might as well head back to the Consulate. You missed out on the cake and ice cream."

"Oh, I don't think so, Ray." He's unbuttoning the last button on his tunic. He stands up straight long enough to shrug out of it, tosses it on top of the dresser by the door, and leans against the door frame again. I squint at him, a little evil eye, and start moving my hand again, up and down, my dick moving in and out of my fingers, slow, fast, slow, faster...

Too slow for me, he's pulling his undershirt off next and then he's got both hands on the button at his waist but he isn't moving 'em. He's watching me and he's lost the smug grin. He's just staring now, and then his mouth opens a little and his tongue comes out: wish I could see it better in this light, stupid eyes, but I know exactly what he looks like, that's the look on his face right before he goes down on me, like a cat waiting at a mouse hole.

"Hey, Frase?"

I hear him swallow once and see him lick his lips before he answers. "Yes, Ray?"

"So... you like these?"

"At the moment, emphatically - _yes_."

"Did they feel like they do on me on you? I mean, did it feel like my tongue down there on your balls all day? Did it feel like - "

"I can assure you, Ray, it did _not_ feel as good as it looks," Fraser says, and his voice is past honey and heading straight for Scotch, warm burn starting low, starting somewhere in my spine and I pump faster without even meaning to because he's staring at me like he wants to eat me, suck me, fuck me, yeah -

"Fuck me," I say, and my voice is almost gone, just a harsh hoarse whisper. He straightens up again and makes a little choking noise and even across the room I can see his hands shake as he fumbles for the button. Shake and fumble and there's a snap and a pop and the button flies off and oh, Christ, so... do... I...

My ass jerks off the bed, pushing my dick hard into my hand and the next second it hits me, pulsing from somewhere behind my balls out onto my hand, over and over, and I grab my balls to feel them through the silk, feel them spasm along with my dick and I let it all go, right along with a moan that comes from my toes.

I open my eyes again, breathing hard, and Fraser's still standing there, mouth still half open, still staring, hungrier than I've ever seen him, pants unfastened now. He's not moving at all, just staring. I look down at the mess: all over my hand, all over my stomach, and, shit, all over the damn boxers, gleaming yellow-white in the glow of Fraser's lantern, the silk under the spatters turning darker blue where it's starting to soak in, sticking to my skin.

Look back up in time to see Fraser right _there_ , tongue already out, hands pushing my legs apart. I'm still trying to get my breath when I feel his breath, warm and then hot and then the hot turns to wet as his mouth closes over my balls and I feel his tongue through the silk. "Oh, I intend to," he whispers, deep and dark, leaning up to lick my stomach. Then he pulls my hand away from my cock, leans in to lick the tips of my fingers and then goes to work on the rest of me, so thorough it's almost businesslike, so gentle it's... not.

Licks around the base of my cock, all soft and squishy now, his tongue pushing at the fabric, licking me and it, little licks, tickles, feels good at the same time. I squirm under him and he giggles, damn it, right into my hip, happy sound, makes me grin. Then he takes me into his mouth and sucks me, gentle, gentle, soft, his tongue warm and wet. Feels weird, feels good, feels weird - he's just doing it to taste me, to feel me, he knows there's no way I'm going to get it up again that fast, and that makes me feel weird-good-weird too: he likes the whole package, experimental hair trigger and all.

He lets me go, one last lick, and then I feel another tickle, hear a kind of lapping noise, and look down to see him licking - cleaning - yup, _lapping_ at the white globs on the damn boxers, eyes half-closed, way past the cat who swallowed the canary and into the cat who swallowed the... cream. And I burst out laughing, and he starts laughing too, even though he's got no idea what the fuck's so funny, and he slides up and kisses me, tastes so fucking bittersweet, meandhim, RayandFraser, and I suck a little harder than I meant to on his tongue.

I tug at his waistband, slide my hand under his scratchy pants to get a handful of starched cotton Fraserass but he resists, shakes his head, makes me let go of his mouth.

"No boots on the bed," he says, and dives for my throat.

"That's a stupid rule, that's a stupid rule, oh God I love your tongue, and I told you that was a stupid rule when you made it up and do _not_ stop that any time soon. Fuck the bed, Fraser, and _fuck_ the boots."

"Later," he says against the skin of my throat, sounds perfectly serious for about three seconds and then he giggles again, which feels _really_ good right up against the hickey he just gave me. "You first."

"Okay, now you're talking." I lick across one of his eyebrows and then take a swipe at his ear and start to turn over but he grabs me, holds me, shakes his head.

"Not yet," he says. "Not yet." And he slides his tongue right down my chest, licks sideways until he makes me laugh, and then keeps licking right back down to the boxers, laps up the rest of it, and then licks me again, around the bottom of my dick, in between me and the silk, and out to the tip and back, those same little laps that make me just want to get fucked, make my dick start to take notice again.

He moves a little, pushes my legs apart, and there're a lot of ways to take Benton Fraser, most of 'em good, hell, most of 'em great, but half naked and kneeling between my legs is right up there with 'best ever,' especially when he's got that 'gonna fuck Ray' grin on his face, the one sort of halfway between the 'thank you kindly (in advance)' smirk and the 'I'm shocked, shocked, I tell you, at my own behaviour' smile.

He slides both arms up under my thighs, tilts me up towards him, and between the tongue and the smile and the anticipation, my dick's starting to get even more interested in the proceedings. He closes his eyes when he leans in and I close mine too, let my head fall back, let my ass push my dick up to meet him halfway, and we both sigh at the same time, right when his mouth closes around me.

He sucks, licks, sucks some more, letting me get hard in his mouth, playing with my dick with his tongue, feels weirder-better-weirder than before, like he's in no hurry, like we have three or four centuries to waste right here on this bed. Sometimes he's all hard and fast and _now_ , Ray, and then me, I'm all harder and faster and _yesterday_ , Fraser, but sometimes he does this, takes both of us to this place, one of those whaddatheycallem time sinks, where we start out at six, look again and it's past eight and we missed "Friends" so there's not much point in getting out of bed if there's no game on except maybe to pay Sandor for the pizza. Plus you can pretty much guarantee I won't be doing a whole lot of sitting down the next day, him either after I get my second wind, so prone is a good place to be at times like those. These.

He's got one hand on my stomach, one under my ass, kneading, squeezing as he sucks; I got both hands in his hair, petting him, holding his head right there. He loses the rhythm for a sec, slurps loud on the intake, makes me laugh, and he laughs too, lets go of me then and tries to hug me, a little awkward, not a full body hug, of course, but I get what he's doing, and I hug him back, his head anyhow, pretty much all I can reach right now, that and squeeze his ribcage with my knees.

I let go of his head with one hand and reach for the lube on the night stand. He looks up, grins, shakes his head, but he takes it anyway, drops it on the bed. Fucking tease. "You're a fucking tease."

"And vice versa, Ray." He grins again, leans down to lick just the head of my cock, little flash of pink tongue, and then he moves further down, nuzzles my balls, and I hear him inhale deep and then exhale, happy sigh. "God, Ray," he says, all muffled against the silk and my balls, vibration makes me jump (he knew it would, make no mistake about that), "you smell so _good_."

"I taste even better." I lean up on one elbow, run a thumb over the eyebrow I licked earlier and keep going, all the way back to his hair.

He raises his head, looks up at me with a tiny crease between his eyes, and then he grins really big, really wolflike, and I have about three seconds to wonder where the hell his mind just went before I lose my own: he pulls the boxers over my dick, drags them off me so fast my head spins, pushes my leg up a half second later, and swipes his tongue right down past my balls and keeps going, going down, down, and... in.

I practically jump off the bed in shock and he says, "Mmmmf!" against me and pushes me back down, oops, sorry, Fraser, didn't mean to cut off your oxygen supply, but no harm done, you got all that excess lung capacity. God _damn_ , that feels good. I knew it tasted good, well, okay, tasted better than I thought it would, and I knew it felt good to lick him, feel him pulse and twitch and flutter _right_ there under my tongue, but I had no idea it felt this good to have _his_ tongue there making me twitch and moan, oh yeah, way louder than he did.

And he's getting into it too, licks, little hard ones, long slow ones, in and out and around: touch, smell, sound (noisy me), _and_ taste, yeah, figures this'd be waaaaaay up there near the top of Fraser's "Ways I Like to Fuck Ray" list and, me not being stupid, it's leapfrogging its way up my list too.

Hard to keep my leg up, all I want is some leverage so I can push right back against that amazing tongue, and Fraser the Mind Reader's in today, braces my ass against one hand so I can move too. Then I feel the graze of his teeth, he moves up to nibble-lick-nibble under my balls, back down to my ass, tongue now, not teeth, and I'm fucking the air and his name's just spilling out of my mouth, one continuous stream. And then, Christ, he adds a finger: sneaky Mountie, I should've been counting hands, slick warm finger, slides right up into me. In and out, faster than he usually does, another finger already, both fingers and still the tongue, warm and wet on the outside, fingers warm and slick on the inside, and I'm ready, _so_ ready...

My eyes are squeezed shut and I hear my own voice, far away, out of breath: "Fraserfraserfraserfuckmefuckmefuckme..."

The mouth goes away but not the fingers, thank God, and his other hand goes away too, open my eyes to see him struggling one handed with his boxers, trying to push 'em down, push his pants down too, I'm too far gone to help, all I can do is move on his fingers (not helpful, Ray) and waitwaitwait for his eye-hand coordination to kick back in so he can get his cock free to fuck me.

"God!" he says, and his voice is kind of harsh and trembling together and I jerk onto his fingers a couple more times as he starts to pull them out, sliding further down the bed. "Now!" and there he is, there's the guy I was looking for, the turned-on-so-hard-he-can't-talk Fraser, putting both hands on my hips and pulling me up his legs and right onto his cock without stopping.

We both stop and breathe and look at each other for a long few seconds and then he takes a deep breath, finds a grin from somewhere, and reaches over for the boxers he dropped next to me.

He keeps his eyes on mine as he shakes the boxers out and slides the dry side over my belly and yeah, it feels just as good against my skin as I will _never_ admit to him I thought it would. "I think," he says, voice cracking a little with the effort to sound reasonable, body all shaky even though he's managing to stay still, "that we're going to need a second pair. As - " he pulls out, shoves in once, and then stops again, "back-up."

Son-of-a-bitch. I open my mouth to tell him that he needs to burn the ones he has when he just... makes it.... fucking... worse.

"Although I think the spare pair should be green, or perhaps a very dark red, almost garnet. Actually-" and he drags those goddamn things right down and over my dick, wraps his fist around it while they're still in his hand and holds on, not too tight, no, really just fucking _right_ with a little bit of flex here and there for emphasis on every one of the next words he says- "actually, I think I need at least two spare pair. Silk requires more careful attention than cotton, after all. Maybe-" he rubs his palm over the head of my dick while the boxers are still in the damn way and I don't want to, I really don't, but I can't help it, I buck into his touch. Into his hand. Into all that goddamned silk, and it pushes him even further into me and he chokes a little before he finishes what he was saying, "-maybe the thing to do is to get a pair for each day of the week."

Smug. He's back on the up side of smug, with his cock buried in my ass, and he's not fucking moving and I can play this game, oh, Fraser, you have no idea, I already got off once today, so I say, like I'm actually _thinking_ about it, "And extras for the weekends, you said."

He swallows hard and gives me a couple shallow thrusts.

"Black," I add, innocently, a few beats after he stops again.

His hand tightens down on my dick in a kind of reflex action and he looks down at my dick wrapped in the silk and then that tongue slides out, hungry, to wet his lips. "Oh yes," he says, kind of thoughtful, and almost has me fooled except for the way his legs are shaking under me, "I would need red as well." He twists his fist a little and the friction of the silk on me makes me want to rocket right out of my skin. "True red, though."

"Serge red," I say and jeez, when the fuck did my voice get that _deep_?

He pulls in a deep shuddering breath, says on the exhale, "Christ, _yes_ ," and then he lets go, lets me go. His pants are scratchy under my legs and my ass, but he slides me up and down smooth as silk, pull and push, fucking finally getting fucked, long hard strokes. He's not playing now, he means business, fuck, does he mean business, strong hands on my hips, stroke after powerful stroke, jaw tight, eyes squeezed shut, his face flushed and his hair starting to curl a little on his forehead, damp with sweat.

He opens his eyes, sees me watching him, throws his head back and groans loud. I'm right there with him, pushing onto him best I can, and he's there already, holds me still and I feel him get even bigger inside me. He lets go of my ass and braces his hands on the mattress and pushes hard, grunts, a long low grunt from his gut, and he's gone, pumping inside me, swollen cock jerking over and over and over and over. The _second_ he collapses on me, his belly all slick with sweat, I'm gone too, all over both of us and the damn boxers again.

"Now they are ruined," I say, idiot, first thing I think. "We're facing a hell of a dry cleaning bill, Mr. I Can't Remember to Take Off My Pumpkin Pants. And you got your boots on the bed and the world didn't come to an end."

"Yes, it did," Fraser says, fervent, into my neck, and squeezes me so hard I can't breathe, don't really want to. He spoils it a few seconds later by shifting his ass and waving his feet in the air. "And, no, I didn't."

"Someday you will."

"No, I won't."

"Oh yes you will."

"Oh, no, I won't."

"Yes, you will or I'll pop you in the head."

I feel him grin against my throat as he drops his feet and squeezes me again. "That's just a posture, Ray."

"You sure about that?"

"Pretty sure."

He makes me laugh out loud. That's life with Fraser. "Then I'll have to launch my secret weapon."

"And that would be?"

"Don't be stupid, Fraser, if I told you I was planning to buy Chicago out of silk boxers I wouldn't retain the, uh, element of surprise."

 

oOo


End file.
